


Get Up and Fight

by DSK1138



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Confessions, Eye Trauma, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Kissing, M/M, Nightmares, Old Men In Love, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Pining Optimus, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Torture, Starvation, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2020-07-30 08:20:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20094178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DSK1138/pseuds/DSK1138
Summary: Alternate plot in which Ratchet refuses to help Megatron find the synth-en formula and the Decepticon leader decides to use more painful methods of persuasion.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is the first fanfic I have written in like, eight years, so I'm not quite sure what to expect. Constructive criticism is welcome!
> 
> This is completely self-indulgent. I love torture, angst, and hurting my faves. Sorry Ratchet. D:
> 
> General warning for torture, especially eye trauma. Later chapters will include discussions of PTSD. Any deaths in this fic are deaths that occur within canon.

Ratchet’s world ebbed and flowed in a vast river of pain. He’d long since lost track of how long he’d been on board the _ Nemesis. _ What did it matter, really, at this point? Rescue was unlikely, even if his comrades were somehow able to locate him.

He kept his optics shuttered, the darkness providing a small refuge from the torments he knew would return soon enough. _ Who will it be this time? _

Each of his tormentors had their preferred methods, and eventually he had learned their patterns and temperaments. Their predictability made things easier, at least. Starscream favored the prod, while Knock Out preferred to use his bare fists. _ A wonder Knock Out would bother to get his hands dirty _he thought to himself with some sick amusement.

Shockwave was the worst. He had a way of getting inside your head. He had the most patience, too. Hours upon hours spent with the cortical psychic patch. Though it had failed to provide the synthetic energon formula Megatron was after, this had not stopped Shockwave from using it again and again, forcing Ratchet to relive his worst memories. To watch helplessly over and over as the injured mechs he had failed to save died in front of him. Images he had spent centuries trying to purge from his mind, now forced to relive. It was maddening.

Strangely enough, the one thing that kept him sane was the very thing Megatron had tried to use against him. Oh, Megatron had tried many methods of persuasion, of course. When they had first taken him, it was all smiles and politeness. Pit, he'd even received a personal guided tour of the Nemesis from the Decepticon leader himself. And Ratchet had to give credit to Megatron, he’d almost convinced him. The rebuilding of Cybertron was something Ratchet wanted more than anything in the entire universe, and Megatron knew that. He’d come so close to saying yes, but in the end it was one of the tools Megatron had tried to use against him that ended up cementing his decision not to cooperate.

Ratchet pulled the familiar image into his processor for what must have been the millionth time. A photo taken by Soundwave of the three human children. They’d tried to threaten him with it when he was first brought on board. Of course he had been nonchalant about it. Tried to act like he didn’t care. He knew the children would be okay. Optimus would do anything in his power to keep them safe. In the end it was that image that did the trick. As he had sat thinking long and hard about Megatron’s offer, about the impossible miracle that Cybertron could return, that image had stayed in his mind, and his choice was made. How could he bring back Cybertron in good conscience, knowing that it would condemn the Earth and all of its life forms to death? Sure, humans were frustrating, and loud, and reckless. But, as he reluctantly admitted to himself after spending so much time with the children, humans could also be brave, and kind, and much stronger than they looked. The humans on Earth had, for the most part, welcomed the Autobots as equals. How could Ratchet live with himself, letting their planet be destroyed, even if it meant losing the possibility of a new Cybertron?

So he had refused, in the end, and Megatron had soon moved on to other methods of persuasion- ones that involved a lot more pain. If he wasn't hurting so much right now he would laugh at the absurdity of the warlord’s reasoning. Did Megatron really think that torture was going to win him any favors? Ratchet had already come as close as he would to cooperating, and once he had made up his mind not to, there was nothing that could change that. Still, he supposed he had to appreciate the effort. In a way, he was somewhat glad to be reminded of Megatron’s true nature, behind the friendly facade he’d presented when Ratchet was first brought on board. If Ratchet had doubted his decision earlier, he certainly didn’t now.

There was a loud screech as the door to the interrogation chamber slid open, followed by heavy pede steps. Ratchet recognized them instantly. _ Speak of the slagmaker himself _. He onlined his optics and met the warlord’s gaze, trying not to show the icy dread that ran through his energon lines. Neither of them spoke for a long time, before finally Megatron approached him.

“Optimus contacted me again today,” he said with a casual tone. “Your leader is worried for you. Surely you don’t want to deprive him of his chief medical officer? It would be a heavy blow to your comrades, don’t you think?”

“Optimus understands the sacrifice I am willing to make,” he replied, his voice laced with static from overuse. He’d given up trying to hide his screams at this point. It didn’t matter. He still wouldn’t give them what they wanted, and it was kind of cathartic, in a way, to let out that pent up frustration, even if it meant showing some sign of weakness.

Megatron’s hand moved to Ratchet’s throat, but he didn’t even flinch, looking Megatron straight in the eyes.

“Just end it already. I’m not going to give you what you want.”

The warlord squeezed a little, before letting go.

“You’re in no position to make such demands. This is over when _ I _say it’s over. And I think we can still come up with plenty more methods of persuasion.”

Megatron reached up, placing a servo gently on Ratchet’s cheek. He tried to pull away, but there was nowhere to go- he was shackled tight to the table beneath him.

Something sinister crept into the Decepticon leader’s eyes- Ratchet recognized that look, too late, and he barely had time to feel the dread in his tanks before Megatron moved his thumb towards Ratchet’s left optic and began applying pressure. The medic gave a startled shout, which grew into a full bodied scream as his optic began to splinter. Finally, it shattered, sending a burst of energon out in a large spray and more of it streaming down his face. Megatron dug his talon in further, tearing at the wires where Ratchet’s optic had been. When he was satisfied with his work, he withdrew his servo, admiring the teal energon that coated his fingers with a smirk. Below him Ratchet shook, whether from pain or adrenaline he didn’t know. Maybe both. Though still somewhat in shock from what had just happened, he managed to speak.

"I-is that… a-all you've got?"

He braced himself for Megatron to go for his other optic in retaliation, but instead, the Decepticon leader gave a low chuckle. "No. It's not. I’ve only scratched the surface of ways to make you suffer.” With that threat left hanging, Megatron turned and left.

Ratchet’s vision swam and he gasped in pain. Everything seemed too bright. Despite his stubbornness, he didn't know how much longer he could keep this up. He shuttered his remaining optic, pulling the image to his mind again. _ Endure. _ He told himself. _ Do it for them _.

-

It became a mantra that he repeated as the days dragged on. Even as his captors came up with new ways to torture him. Even as they meticulously and painfully took apart the joints in his legs. Even as they tore open his chest cavity and began to play with his internal components. Even as they tore his t-cog out and shattered it in front of him. _ Endure _ . _ Keep going. _

Soon the image of the children in his mind was joined by the image of his teammates. It was bittersweet, knowing that he would likely never see them again, but it was the only refuge he had left. When things got especially bad, he thought of Optimus. Those piercing blue optics, and a kind, understated smile that the world didn’t get to see often enough. How he wished he could see that smile just one more time. _ I’m sorry Optimus _. He laid his head back and waited for death to take him.


	2. Chapter 2

“Here,” Wheeljack said, bringing himself and Smokescreen to a halt in front of a locked door. The younger mech nodded, getting ready to activate his Phase Shifter. Wheeljack reached out, placing a tentative hand on the other’s shoulder.

“Hey, kid. Be careful. This . . . might not be pretty.”

All of their intel told them Ratchet was likely still alive — clearly Megatron needed him for something — but what state he was in after having been with the ‘cons for so long . . .

Smokescreen nodded, his face set with determination, before he slipped through the door. Wheeljack could make out the sounds of blasters activating and a mild scuffle. _ Of course the kid gets to have all the fun _. He smiled good-naturedly to himself. This part of the ship had been pitifully guarded, no doubt because everyone was otherwise occupied with the giant battle currently taking place on the bridge. They’d known that their chances of this being a stealth mission were slim, and sure enough, as soon as they arrived they’d been detected. Optimus and the others had been engaged in battle, sending Wheeljack and Smokescreen to find Ratchet.

The door finally slid open as Smokescreen found the controls. He greeted Wheeljack with a grimace. “You were right. It’s bad.”

He caught a glimpse of a couple destroyed Vehicons behind Smokescreen. The kid had been thorough, for sure. But nothing could prepare him for the other sight that greeted him.

Ratchet lay bound to a table in the center of some sort of interrogation setup. If Wheeljack didn’t feel his faint EM field he might have thought he was dead. His colors were faded, and it seemed like every inch of his plating was covered in some kind of burn, cut, or dent. A dark hole was all that remained of his left optic, and the dried energon still stuck to his face told Wheeljack all he needed to know about what had happened there. The doctor’s legs were in a mangled state — they’d obviously done something to his knee joints but Wheeljack wasn’t sure what, he was too distracted trying to take everything in. “Oh, Ratch…” he said softly. As he moved closer it also became apparent that the medic’s chest compartment had been torn open and re-closed numerous times. That could only mean bad things, but they’d have time to worry about that later. For now they needed to focus on getting Ratchet out safely.

He and Smokescreen started in on releasing his bonds when Ratchet let out a pained whimper.

“Please, just end it already. I won’t tell you what you want. Just let me die.”

Wheeljack frowned. To hear the stubborn Ratchet begging for death… it was uncanny. There was no telling what kind of horrors Ratchet had suffered, and he felt a pang of guilt for not finding the medic sooner. Wheeljack loathed feeling this helpless_ . _

“Hey, it’s okay, Doc, it’s us,” he said, placing a gentle hand on Ratchet’s shoulder. “We’re getting you out of here.”

Ratchet didn’t seem to know what was happening. His one optic remained offline.

“Help me lift him,” he told Smokescreen, who leapt to his aid once they had finished setting the medic free. The two of them took Ratchet’s limp form between them, though Wheeljack, being the physically stronger of the two, ended up taking most of the weight.

“Let’s go. Keep an eye out.” But the corridors were empty as they made their way to the meeting point. Whatever was going on on the bridge must be huge. He sent a quick comm to Optimus informing him they were on their way, but received no response. 

When they reached the meeting point, they decided to stay put. Better not to bring an injured mech into the heat of battle. As they waited, Smokescreen murmured comforting things to Ratchet, but if the older mech heard it he gave no indication.

Finally, after a few minutes, they were joined by Arcee and Bulkhead. “Sorry to keep you hanging,” Arcee said, out of breath. “Things are kind of in chaos out there.” She peered at Ratchet, her optics clouding with worry. “How is he?”

“It’s pretty bad, not gonna lie,” Wheeljack answered. “He’s one of the toughest bots I know, though. If anyone can pull through, it’s Ratchet.”

There was a loud commotion, and Optimus and Bumblebee came into view. They looked worse for wear. It appeared Bumblebee in particular had taken quite the beating, but he stood solidly on his pedes in a way that indicated he felt just fine. “We need to go, now. Rafael, activate the Ground Bridge,” Optimus said urgently into his comm, before turning to Wheeljack. “What is Ratchet’s condition?”

“He’s in really bad shape, but he’ll make it.”

Optimus was often difficult to read, but his distraught at seeing his closest friend in such a state was clear. He approached and put a gentle servo on Ratchet’s mangled chest. “Hold on, old friend.”

“What happened to you two?” asked Smokescreen, taking in their damaged states. To his utter shock, it was not Optimus who opened his mouth to answer, but Bumblebee.

“Megatron,” said Bumblebee, in his own voice, a voice nobody had heard in centuries. “Megatron’s dead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's kind of short, but I promise soon we will be getting to the real meat of this story! I'm going to kind of skim over Megatron's death, but it happens pretty similarly to how it happens in canon. From here on out I'm planning on some Optiratch feels and Ratchet and Bumblebee bonding as well.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all of the lovely comments! It makes me so happy to see people enjoying this story <3
> 
> As promised, finally some Optiratch content. I love writing them.

Optimus glanced down for what must have been the hundredth time from where he kept watch over his friend. It had been nearly three days since they had rescued Ratchet, and still he showed no signs of waking, though his condition was stable. In addition to his extensive wounds, he’d been frighteningly undernourished when they’d found him, and it had taken a while for the IV they had attached to him to fully restore energon to his systems.

He thanked Primus that Ratchet had had the foresight to give Arcee some basic medical training. She and Wheeljack had taken care of Ratchet’s more serious wounds. There had been so many, and not for the first time Optimus felt a pang of guilt grip his spark.  _ We should have done more for you, old friend.  _

Despite the confidence of the others that Ratchet would pull through quickly, Optimus found himself worrying about it constantly. The injuries were bad. Ratchet was stubborn enough that he would no doubt be on his feet in a few weeks, but Optimus worried about him pushing himself too hard. He knew from experience that the medic was not one to let anything slow him down when it came to his work. On top of that, there was his missing optic, which would be impossible to replace at this point in time given the limited resources they had. And then there was his t-cog.

When they had gotten him stabilized, they had opened up his chest compartment to make sure that his more vital components were still functioning normally. Nothing could have prepared them for the horrific sight that greeted them. Ratchet’s t-cog had been torn out, not even removed with the same surgical precision that Bumblebee’s had when MECH had attempted to steal it. Frayed connections remained in place around the missing component; it was apparent that the Decepticons wanted to draw attention to what was missing. Its removal had no doubt been sadistic and painful.

Arcee had been nearly unable to remove the frayed wires and re-seal Ratchet’s chest compartment, her servos shaking with fury. Bumblebee had also been particularly affected, having experienced the loss of his own t-cog before. They had all known that torture was a possibility, especially for the Decepticons, but this was worse than any of them could imagine. To tear out another bot’s t-cog… something so essential to who they were… it was an act of cruelty unthinkable, even for Megatron.

Once again, Optimus felt a pang of guilt. If he had accepted the reality that this Megatron was no longer the Megatron he had called his friend, none of this would have happened. So much pain and loss could have been prevented, if only Optimus’s own attachments hadn’t gotten in the way. And now his team was suffering for it…

He shook his helm, trying to bring himself back to the present. Megatron was dead now. He would allow himself to mourn this later, more privately. Not the loss of the Megatron who had done this to Ratchet, but the Megatron he had once known, the one who had died millennia ago. For now, there were more important things to focus on.

* * *

It took another day before Ratchet finally awoke. As always, Optimus was keeping vigil over his sleeping form.

"Optimus?" The medic murmured hesitantly.

"I'm here, old friend," Optimus reassured him, a bit of light finding its way into his optics.

Ratchet relaxed a little, but Optimus thought he still caught a bit of hesitance in the other's expression.

"How are you feeling?" He asked.

"Like I crawled out of the Pit,” Ratchet grunted. He paused, and his features softened a bit. “But better, with you with me. I- I thought I'd never see you again,” he murmured softly.

"I'm so sorry," Optimus said with a heavy ex-vent. "I failed to protect you."

"Enough of that," Ratchet chided him. "It wasn't your fault and I won't let you go feeling guilty on my behalf." He was quiet for a moment before continuing. "I've always been prepared to sacrifice whatever is necessary for my Prime, and if that means my life, so be it."

"I would never ask that of you," Optimus said quickly, a hint of sorrow in his voice.

"I know."

Their gazes met and they sat in silence for a moment. Optimus felt the overwhelming desire to reach out and touch Ratchet -- whether for the other’s comfort or his own, he couldn’t say -- but before he could, they were interrupted.

"Ratchet!"

Ratchet's optic widened.

"Bumblebee? By the Allspark, your voice! How did you-?"

"During our battle, I fell through the partially constructed Omega Lock. I’m not really sure how, but it restored my voice."

Ratchet blinked, still a bit surprised at this new information, but his joy at seeing Bumblebee’s voice finally restored was evident.

“That’s not all,” Bumblebee continued. “Megatron’s dead. I offlined him.”

“What?” Ratchet reeled in shock, and though he tried to hide it, Optimus noticed the tiny glance the medic cast his way, gauging for the Prime’s feelings towards his former friend’s death.

“What does this mean for us?” Ratchet asked. He knew better than to think this meant the war was over, but hope sparked in his optic just the same.

“The Decepticons have split into two factions, one led by Starscream and the other by Shockwave. They’ve kept themselves busy in the meantime fighting over resources, but soon we’ll have our work cut out for us.”

Ratchet nodded. “And what of the Omega Lock? They needed my synth-en formula to complete it. I refused to help them, but I knew it would only be a matter of time before Shockwave figured it out.”

Bumblebee’s optics dimmed slightly, and he and Optimus exchanged a solemn look.

“We decided it would be best to destroy it,” Optimus said. “Our numbers are so small. Even with Megatron dead, it would be impossible for our team to overtake the entire  _ Nemesis.  _ Shockwave escaped, and we couldn’t risk him completing it-”

“You don’t need to explain yourself,” Ratchet cut him off. “I trust your decision. I want to see Cybertron restored more than anything, but there are too many risks involved right now. The synth-en formula is still unstable, and there are a number of other things that could go wrong.” He let out a tired ex-vent. “It seems I missed a lot while I was out.”

Bumblebee’s energetic mood quieted a bit as he was reminded of what their medic had been through. "I'm sorry for what happened to you… your t-cog. If- if there's anything I can do-"

Ratchet dismissed this with a wave of his servo. "Knowing that you are safe, and your voice restored is enough." Despite these words, a pained expression crossed his face, and Optimus didn’t miss the way one of Ratchet’s servos ghosted subconsciously over his chest compartment.

“May I see the list of injuries?” the medic asked. “I need to be back on my feet as soon as possible.”

Optimus shook his helm. “Not now, old friend. You will have plenty of time to repair yourself, but for now, you need to rest.”

Ratchet frowned, but didn’t argue. Optimus could already feel the exhaustion biting at the edge of the other’s field. He tried to fight off his own exhaustion. Ratchet would scold him if he knew how long it had been since Optimus had recharged. Now that Ratchet was awake, he could rest a little easier, though he suspected the rest would not last for long. The Decepticons would be on the move again soon, and on top of that there was the rest of his team to care for. Ratchet’s absence had been hard on everyone, both physically and emotionally, and had affected Optimus perhaps most of all. He had always felt comfortable confiding in Ratchet about things he couldn’t open up to others about, and he had missed the medic’s company greatly.

His thoughts were interrupted as a notification from Fowler pinged on his com. It seemed recharge would have to wait after all.

“Please excuse me,” he said. “It seems I am needed elsewhere. Rest well, Ratchet.” He couldn’t hide the gentleness in his features as he addressed his friend, a small smile gracing his normally stoic face. Ratchet smiled back, and Optimus tried to tell himself he was imagining it when he felt his spark skip a beat.

* * *

Later, the children came to visit Ratchet for a short while.

“Ratchet! You’re back!” Miko shouted, climbing up onto the berth with him.

Normally he would have bristled at her for getting so close to his personal space, but this time, he allowed it without complaint.

“Wh- what happened to your eye?” Rafael asked softly.

The question gave Ratchet pause. He didn’t see it necessary to disclose to the children the full details of what he had experienced, and tried to think of an appropriate way to word it.

“I was up against Megatron,” he said at last, “And while I put up quite a fight, he got in a few good blows as well. I’ll be fine, these things happen in war.”

This wasn’t entirely the truth, but it was close enough. Though his battle with Megatron had been mental and not physical, Ratchet liked to think he had put up a good fight. Right now his sanity depended on him telling himself that.

This explanation seemed to work, as he noticed the boy relax just a bit.

Miko piped up. “Yeah! I bet you showed him what happens when you mess with the Autobots!”

Ratchet smiled appreciatively. He wouldn’t admit how happy he was to see them again in person, not in Soundwave’s image which had become burned into his brain, but in front of him and moving and alive.

“All right, time to give Ratchet a little space,” said Bumblebee.

“Aw, come on, we were just getting to the good part!” Miko complained.

After the children said their goodbyes and left with Bumblebee, it didn’t take long for Ratchet to fall into recharge once again. He couldn’t recall feeling this tired in a long time. Before he fell into full recharge, he couldn’t keep his processor from drifting to how different things would be now.  _ Megatron is dead, but the fight is not over.  _ He would have to recover quickly, make himself strong for his team. They’d been without a proper medic for several weeks now, and Primus knows none of them would know what basic maintenance was if it hit them in the face. Yes, he’d subject them all to check ups first thing tomorrow.

He began to form a list of tasks, but try as he might, he couldn’t fully distract himself from the other thing on his processor. Things would be different for Ratchet himself now. He’d lost a vital function of his body, and though he made less use of his t-cog than the other members of his team, he couldn’t pretend that the loss didn’t hurt. A more private part of himself would miss his vehicle mode. Though it was nothing flashy, there was a certain freedom in being able to transform, and now it was gone forever. Aside from that, it also put the team at a severe disadvantage should they ever need to evacuate the base. The last thing Ratchet wanted was to be a burden to his team, though he feared that being a possibility now more than ever. He would just have to work twice as hard to make sure that didn’t happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to put some fluff in this chapter, but there will still be a bit more angst coming up.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for how long it took me to update this! I've been working at a haunted house this year, so October has been a busy month for me. I'm glad to have a chance to get back to this fic, though!
> 
> General warning ahead for panic attacks and flashbacks.

It didn’t take long for Ratchet to get back to work. Though Optimus insisted he take it slow, he had reluctantly agreed with Ratchet’s assessment that work would be the best thing for him mentally. He’d never been very good at winning an argument with Ratchet.

Ratchet had followed through with his plans of running a basic checkup on everyone, much to their protest, and thank Primus he did. A youngling could take better care of themselves than his team had been doing. His thorough chiding was taken without much complaint. Maybe there were benefits after all of being in Decepticon captivity for several weeks, if it meant his teammates would finally listen to him for once.

His own injuries were healing quickly. Wheeljack had been an enormous help to him. Together the two of them had fixed up Ratchet’s legs, and the wrecker had even helped him repaint spots that had been dented or burned. Ratchet would never admit it, but he was very grateful to the Wrecker.

Unfortunately, they did not possess the resources necessary to fix Ratchet’s optic. It was possible that one day it could be fixed, but for now, he had resorted to welding a patch over it, which Miko assured him looked “badass”. With his millennia of experience behind him, he hardly needed perfect sight to carry out his job anyways. He knew every detail of Cybertronian anatomy, every medical procedure and surgery like the back of his servo.

More difficult was the loss of his ability to transform, but he refused to allow himself to think of that. _ Better me than any other member of our team. _

The rest of the team had been rather busy as of late. News of Megatron’s death was beginning to spread outside of Earth. Optimus himself had sent a message to whatever Autobots remained, inviting them to join team Prime on Earth. Nobody had responded yet. Most likely they were still dealing with rogue Decepticon factions who refused to accept their leader’s demise. Still, Optimus had been in discussions with the U.S. government about possibly building a refuge city for Cybertronians on Earth. It was a long and frustrating process, as the humans were not entirely open to the idea of aliens coming to live on their planet. However, Optimus was nothing if not patient, and from what Ratchet could gather, the humans seemed to be warming up to the idea.

When he wasn’t in negotiations, Optimus spent much of his spare time in the medbay with Ratchet. His company was welcome. At first they had spent most of their time together discussing the future of the Autobots and what would happen next. It had been Ratchet to whom Optimus first proposed the idea of a refuge city on Earth. Though neither of them had given up completely on restoring Cybertron one day, they agreed that it was better to focus on more immediate needs.

The more time Ratchet and Optimus spent together, they fell into a comfortable pattern. Often they would simply sit in silence, or work on their own tasks together. They hadn’t spent so much time together since perhaps before the war, but Ratchet wasn’t about to complain. The company kept his mind from wandering to darker places. For a short time.

-

The nightmares started a few weeks after his return. The first time it happened, he dreamed of a memory from the start of the war, one of the memories Shockwave had forced him to relive. A young scout, barely even out of his adolescence, had been brought into the medbay, missing the better part of his legs and a huge hole blown right through his torso. Ratchet had worked frantically, doing everything in his power to save the mech, but in the end he could only watch helplessly as the scout’s spark faded out. It was the first patient he lost during the war, and though he had lost countless more since then, too many to remember all of their faces, he would never forget the face of that poor young mech, panicked optics silently pleading for an end to the pain.

He had awoken, energon cold, spark spinning frantically in its chamber. Rather than return to recharge, he had wandered the base, making small repairs to damaged equipment and other various tasks to take his mind off of it. Eventually, the image left him.

Then, two nights later, another nightmare. And another. And another. It became a pattern. At first, they were all just old memories. He suspected it could be a side effect of the cortical psychic patch. Such a tool was not meant to be used as liberally as Shockwave had used it on him. Surely this was the rational explanation for his recurring dreams.

But as time went on, the dreams strayed further from reality and grew increasingly vivid. Sometimes he found himself back on board the _ Nemesis _, Megatron looming over him, laughing as he tore piece after piece from Ratchet’s frame. Other times he was forced to look on helplessly as his teammates were gruesomely killed in battle. He watched Megatron tear the Matrix form Optimus’s chest. One particularly vivid dream involved Cliffjumper’s re-animated corpse.

Eventually, he started avoiding recharge as much as he could. It wasn’t as if he didn’t have plenty of projects to work on anyways. And it really wasn’t so bad. He had worked on low amounts of recharge for much of the war.

So what if it put him in a more irritable mood than usual? His teammates didn’t seem to notice the difference, or if they did, they didn’t say anything. He recalled with some guilt an incident in which he had delivered a scathing speech to Bumblebee, who had playfully snuck up on him at his workbench and startled him, causing him to nearly drop and break the equipment he was working on.

No, he couldn’t take this out on his teammates. He would just have to keep going. Act like everything was fine. Maybe this would clear up eventually. It was just dreams, after all.

-

Time passed, and though he was able to more or less push through his exhaustion, Ratchet found himself making small mistakes here and there. It was nothing to be concerned about, aside from being somewhat embarrassing (one particular incident involved Ratchet nearly drinking from a container of cleaning fluid instead of energon -- he had received endless teasing from his teammates for that one), but still, it frustrated him. _ You should be better than this _ he chided himself. Still, he pushed on, until one afternoon when Bulkhead was brought into the medbay after a scrape with some rogue Decepticons.

The wounds were minor, thank Primus, but Ratchet found himself taking much longer than usual as he worked through patching up the other mech’s wounds. Bulkhead, who had for the most part subjected to Ratchet’s treatment without any complaining, began to grow restless.

“Stop squirming!” Ratchet barked, his tone harsher than he intended. “I can’t fragging focus when you’re wiggling around like that!”

Bulkhead muttered a hasty apology, and Ratchet turned back to continue the weld he was working on. He faintly registered Bumblebee and Arcee enter the medbay, though his focus remained on his task. His vision swam as he found it increasingly difficult to concentrate. Maybe he really should recharge…

“-atchet. _ Ratchet _.”

“What?” he grunted, glancing up from his work again. His gaze met that of a very concerned-looking Arcee. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”

Instead of being offended by his irritated attitude, her expression turned discerning. “Are you okay?” she asked bluntly, then softer, added, “You don’t look so good.”

Ratchet’s processor spun wildly, a feeling of panic racing through his spark. He heard the sound of the welder clattering to the floor, but his mind was already somewhere else.

_ “You don’t look so good.” _

_ Knock Out looked down at him with a smirk, before continuing. _

_ “Yes, I think immediate medical attention is required.” _

_ He withdrew a scalpel from his subspace, and in a flash of movement, jammed it into Ratchet’s side. It hit a cluster of pain receptors, and Ratchet growled in pain. _

_ Though the weapon was small, Knock Out knew Cybertronian anatomy well enough to know exactly which places would hurt the most. _

_ Ratchet grit his dentae, trying not to show how much pain he was in. _

_ “What? No clever remarks?” Knock Out said. “Pity. Your dry wit was always my favorite thing about you.” _

_ “You want something clever?” Ratchet grunted, before proceeding to let out a string of the most foul curses he could think of. _

_ Knock Out backhanded him harshly, but his face held a sharp grin. “That’s more like it.” _

_ His smile grew wider as he drew closer, bringing the scalpel back to Ratchet’s frame and digging it in and dragging it through sensitive nerves and oh primus please let this end… _

“Ratchet!”

He felt someone touch his shoulder, steadying him. He was on the floor. _ How did I end up on the floor? _His spark was pounding and everything still seemed very far away.

“Ratchet, listen to me. I need you exvent. Count to ten.”

He didn’t know who was speaking, but the voice anchored him, and he exvented slowly, counting to ten. He started to become more aware of his own frame, and realized he was shaking.

“Now, tell me the name of every single Cybertronian disease you can think of.”

He began listing off diseases, starting with life threatening and working down. Soon, his vents slowed and his spark rate returned to normal. The servo was still on his shoulder, and when he finally looked up, he realized it belonged to Bumblebee.

“You okay to stand?” the yellow mech asked softly.

“Y- yes,” he responded.

Bumblebee helped him to his pedes, and Bulkhead scrambled off the medical berth, leaving room for Ratchet to sit.

“What happened?” asked the Wrecker. “Are you okay?”

Ratchet didn’t answer, his processor still trying to catch up with what had happened.

“Can you guys give us a minute?” Bumblebee asked. Bulkhead looked hesitant to leave, but Arcee took his arm and began to lead him towards the door. She shot Bumblebee a pointed look.

“Let us know if you need anything.” Her optics flicked to Ratchet, then back to Bumblebee. Ratchet perceived some sort of silent communication going on between the two of them, before she turned and left, closing the door softly behind her.

“What happened, Ratchet?” Bumblebee asked.

“I- I don’t know. I was fine one minute, and then suddenly I was back _ there _-”

He stopped himself. He _ hated _ looking so weak in front of his team. _ What is happening to me? _

Bumblebee nodded.

“Do you remember, a few months after I lost my voice box, when I was brought to see you because I couldn’t recharge?”

Ratchet nodded. He knew where this was going now.

“You ended up diagnosing me with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I don’t know how much you remember about it. You referred me to a psychiatrist soon after.”

“Are you saying this was a panic attack?” said Ratchet, still a bit disbelieving. Though mental trauma was not his wheelhouse - he focused on healing the physical - he was aware of the symptoms of PTSD. He’d seen it many times -- it was hardly a rare occurrence in an army that had been fighting a several million year war. He just never expected it to happen to _ him _.

“I mean, I’m not an expert,” said Bumblebee. “It just- it seems like... like what I went through.”

Ratchet felt a pang of guilt. He hadn’t done nearly enough for Bumblebee when he lost his voice, and now he was unable to complete even the simplest of tasks for his team.

“How do I fix it?” he said, his voice wavering in frustration and shame.

“It takes time,” Bumblebee said. “There’s no immediate solution. But there are things you can do to make it easier. Rung taught me some exercises for when I had panic attacks.” He glanced at Ratchet. “Talking helps, too. If- if you need to talk about it, I don’t mind listening.”

Ratchet nodded, still trying to process everything. “Thank you, Bumblebee,” he said softly. “I’m so sorry for- for what happened to you. I’m sorry for not being able to do more.”

“Ratchet, I don’t think you realize just how much you _ did _ help me,” Bumblebee said, his voice carrying a bit of sadness. “You saved my life, and even after, when I was learning to cope with all of this, you always took the time to listen to me. Before I was cleared for the field again and you would let me help you clean the medbay. I don’t think you realize how much that meant to me. You made me feel like I had value again. If I can help you now, please let me.”

“Okay,” Ratchet conceded. “I’ll let you know.”

Bumblebee seemed satisfied by these words, but Ratchet wasn’t sure how much he meant them. He couldn’t help but feel like a burden to his team, now more than ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I've never written PTSD before, so I tried to do a lot of research, but please let me know if I got anything wrong. On a side note, I live for Ratchet and Bumblebee having a father/son dynamic.
> 
> Next up, get ready for Optimus and June friendship and some pining Optimus!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we have Pining!Optimus
> 
> Very short chapter this time. Thanks for all the kind comments on the last one! Hopefully I can update more frequently now that I have a small break from work.

“May I speak with you for a moment?”

June looked up from the book she was reading. Optimus was attempting to speak in a hushed tone, but to the human, his voice still rang deep and loud.

“Of course,” she said. “I hope this isn’t about something Jack has done.” The last part was mostly a joke, but Optimus looked rather alarmed.

“No, no,” he assured her, optics wide. “It’s nothing like that. It’s just- you are a medical professional, are you not? I need some advice about a . . . medical matter.”

June tried to keep the perplexed expression off her face. “I am, though I don’t know if I can be of much help when it comes to Cybertronian medical problems. Why don’t you ask Ratchet?”

Optimus avoided her gaze, looking down at his servos, which fiddled uselessly in front of him. “The matter is about Ratchet.”

“Here, why don’t you sit down?” June offered, sensing that this was going to be a long discussion. Though she and Optimus had a polite relationship, they rarely ever spent extended time around each other. What could be so serious that he sought her out now?

Optimus took her invitation, situating himself on the floor next to the platform where the humans spent most of their time when they visited the base. Even sitting, he was tall enough that she had to look up from her perch on the platform to meet his optics.

“What’s the problem?” she asked.

Optimus looked uncertain about how to proceed, his optics distant and clouded with worry.

“Bumblebee informed me yesterday that there was an… incident involving Ratchet. Something happened and triggered what I believe you call a ‘panic attack’. He collapsed and seemed to have a traumatic flashback of some sort.”

June was a bit surprised. It was hard to imagine robots having panic attacks, but after all she had seen, she supposed it wasn’t too far-fetched.

“Could be post-traumatic stress. It’s common in war veterans, and I can imagine Ratchet has seen a lot of traumatic things during his career.” She was also aware that Ratchet had recently been missing from the base for a few weeks, and though she didn’t know the details, if something extremely stressful had happened to him during that time, it wasn’t beyond reason for it to have caused some lasting trauma.

Optimus ex-vented, and June couldn’t recall ever seeing him look so vulnerable.

“How do I help him?” he asked.

“That’s… difficult,” said June. “I’m not a mental health specialist. The best option is therapy, but I guess you don’t really have any Cybertronian therapists on hand, huh?” She continued. “The best advice I can give is just let him know that you’re there for him. Listen to him if he needs to talk. If the flashbacks become more frequent, it might be helpful to figure out what triggers them so that you know what to avoid, at least for now. These kinds of things take time to recover from, but the best thing you can do is give Ratchet a strong support system. Let him know he’s not alone. Did he talk to you about any of this?”

“No,” Optimus said sadly. “He didn’t mention anything to me, and asking seems like a violation of his privacy.”

“I see,” said June. “It’s probably best not to pressure him to talk about anything he doesn’t want to, but there are still ways to let him know that you’re a safe person to talk to should he feel the need.”

Optimus nodded, but the worried look did not pass from his optics.

“I worry about him internalizing this,” he confessed. “Ratchet is so stubborn. He- he sees himself as a burden to others. If I could just help him realize how untrue that is…”

June nodded sympathetically. It was heart-wrenching to think of the Autobot medic thinking so low of himself, especially after all he had done for not only his own team, but for her son and the other children as well.

“You’ve known Ratchet for a very long time, haven’t you?” June asked. “I’m positive that if anyone can help him, you can.”

The emotion that crossed Optimus’s face was at first difficult to place- it was something intangible, yet strangely familiar.

Then, suddenly it hit her.

“You and Ratchet…” she ventured. She had a passing thought that she shouldn’t pry, but her curiosity won out.

She didn’t have to finish the thought. Optimus’s optics widened as he caught onto what she was asking.

“No!” he said quickly. “We’re just friends. We have known each other for a very long time. Ratchet is very dear to me, but there are certain boundaries as Prime… it’s complicated.”

June tilted her head, her eyes alight with interest. Any guilt she had about prying was long gone.

“Complicated how?”

Optimus didn’t answer. He avoided making eye contact, and it struck her that she had seen the exact same expression from Jack when she had questioned him once about a certain girl at school.

The realization made her want to laugh out loud, though she managed to restrain herself. Here was the leader of a faction of giant alien robots, a fierce warrior who had seen millions of years of combat, and he was acting like a nervous teenager with a crush. It was kind of adorable.

“Did you ever ask Ratchet what he thinks?” she pressed.

“No,” said Optimus. “I… don’t know if he feels the same way. I wouldn’t want to pressure him.”

_ So you pined after him for millions of years instead. And I thought _ I _ was bad at relationships. _

“Well, you’ll never know if you don’t ask,” she offered. After a moment, she added, “Any bot would be lucky to have you.”

For the first time since their conversation started, the smallest trace of a smile slipped onto Optimus’s face, and he shook his helm. “No, I’d be the lucky one. I know that Ratchet can come off as… abrasive at times, but he has one of the kindest sparks I know. I admire him so much.”

“Then tell him,” June insisted. “Even if he doesn’t return your feelings, don’t you think it would feel good to know that his friend and leader thinks so highly of him?”

Optimus seemed to consider this, his optics finally turning to focus on her.

“Perhaps you are right. The war has made it difficult for all of us to show affection. It is difficult to do so when you may lose your closest friends at any moment. But maybe it is time that we started being more forthcoming with our feelings. As their leader, it is only right that I set an example.”

A smile graced his features as he stood.

"Thank you, Mrs. Darby."

"Please, call me June.”

“Thank you, June,” he corrected himself.

“And Optimus? One more thing. Don’t forget to take care of yourself, too, okay? I know you worry about your team, but they worry about you, too.” It felt strange to be bossing around _Optimus_ _Prime_ of all people, but June’s motherly instincts had taken over, and she couldn’t help herself.

Optimus’s expression once again reminded her of Jack’s after she had prodded him to take out the trash or do his laundry. He looked as if he had been busted doing something he wasn’t supposed to.

_ So, the Mom Voice _ does _ work on giant alien robots. Huh. File that away for later. _

Optimus straightened himself. “I shall do my best.”

She nodded approvingly. Realistically, it would take time to develop consistent self care habits, but this? This was a good start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> June is here to help these poor bots! Talking about feelings is scary.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things go from bad to worse.
> 
> General warning for panic attacks, mild blood, self harm, and starvation.

Ratchet was in the medbay, as usual, when Optimus sought him out. He glanced up from his work upon sensing a presence in the doorway, and was surprised to see Optimus standing there awkwardly. He was expecting either Bumblebee or Arcee, who had come to check on him with annoying frequency the past few days.

He hadn’t had any more… incidents, but that didn’t stop the younger mechs from hanging around his medbay constantly like a swarm of earth bees guarding their hive. He tolerated it- he didn’t want to draw any more unnecessary attention to himself by snapping at them, and besides, he knew deep down that their intentions were good. But if they expected him to suddenly just open up and pour out his spark to them, they were fooling themselves.

_ Not that there’s anything to talk about, anyways. What happened was a one time occurrence. Just the result of a long day without enough recharge. There’s nothing wrong with me. Nothing. _

The medical professional in him shouted his protest, that there _ was _ something wrong and that he needed help, but the stubborn side of Ratchet ignored it.

He realized Optimus had been standing in the same spot for an oddly long period of time.

“You can come in, you know,” he said. “I’m not going to turn into a Predacon and bite you.”

“Sorry,” Optimus apologized quickly, before shuffling into the room.

“Did you need something?” Ratchet asked.

It wasn’t a rare occurrence for the Prime to simply want to spend time with him, but Optimus’s uncharacteristically nervous demeanor told him that this was something else.

He turned to face Optimus as the other mech stopped to stand next to him, close enough to touch, but still a polite distance away.

“No, old friend, I just wanted to check on you,” Optimus said. “You haven’t left the medbay in quite a while.”

“Yes, well, there’s a lot of work to do,” Ratchet grunted. “My workload doesn’t stop just because Megatron is dead.”

Optimus was quiet, trying to think of a way to phrase what he wanted to say.

“Bumblebee and Arcee are worried about you,” he said finally. “If- if you aren’t feeling well, there is no shame in taking a break or letting your teammates know.”

“The only thing that’s causing me to feel unwell is young bots who don’t know how to mind their own business,” he snapped.

He shot Optimus a rather bitter glare, but his gaze softened upon noticing Optimus’s stricken expression. He let out a sigh.

“I know they mean well. But honestly, I’m fine. Tired, sure, but when are any of us not?”

Optimus seemed to appraise him, and he knew deep down that his leader wouldn’t buy his excuses. He knew Ratchet too well for that. Ratchet felt a pang of guilt for lying so obviously to one of his closest friends. _ Just tell him! _the rational side of him screamed.

“Ratchet…” Optimus began. He seemed at war with himself over something.

“You’re a good friend,” he said at last, “and an excellent medic. I…” He trailed off, his blue optics clouded in thought. Indecisiveness filled his field, and Ratchet could do nothing but wait for whatever it was Optimus was trying to say. 

Finally, one side won out, and Optimus continued, quietly, “We care about you very much. Please, don’t feel like a burden if you need anything from us.”

Ratchet turned back to his workbench without a word, and Optimus must have taken that as a cue to leave.

“Take care, old friend,” he said softly, and then he was gone.

-

Optimus let out a shaky ex vent as the door to the medbay closed behind him.

_ You’re a coward. _ He chided himself. _ You should have told him how you feel. _

But Ratchet had so much on his plate right now… it wouldn’t be fair to burden him with Optimus’s own feelings.

_ That’s just a convenient excuse, and you know it. The truth of the matter is, you’re scared. _

He couldn’t argue with that. Throughout the entire conversation with Ratchet, different scenarios had played out in his processor.

_ What if he doesn’t feel the same way, and things become awkward between us? What if he doesn’t return my feelings but feels pressured to do so because of my position as his leader? What if I just cause him more stress than he’s already under? _

_ Ratchet’s well-being is more important than anything I may feel for him. _

He shuttered his optics and took a deep breath, trying hard to channel calm acceptance into his field.

He was willing to do a lot to keep Ratchet safe, even if that meant sacrificing his own happiness.

-

“Pass me that wrench, will you?”

Bumblebee leapt up to grab the tool in question, delivering it to Ratchet faster than the older mech could blink.

Perhaps there were some benefits to having the young bot hanging around after all.

“Thank you,” Ratchet smiled.

A while had passed without incident, but that hadn’t stopped Bumblebee from visiting the medbay during his spare time. Finally, Ratchet had decided that if the yellow mech was going to be hanging around so much, he might as well be of some use. Bumblebee was an eager helper. He’d been quite restless since Megatron’s defeat, and seemed to appreciate having something to do.

Though he was obviously worried about Ratchet, he didn’t press him to talk more about the panic attack, which Ratchet appreciated.

“Now, pay attention,” Ratchet said as he tightened a bolt on one of their scanners. “You may need to know how to fix this someday.”

Bumblebee’s optics glowed with interest as Ratchet continued. “You can always tell it needs maintenance when-”

He was cut off by a beep from his comm.

“Ratchet! We need a ground bridge immediately!”

Optimus sounded distressed, and Ratchet’s tanks churned in worry.

“I’m on it!” Within a few quick moments, the groundbridge opened up before him, and Optimus and Arcee came stumbling through. Optimus seemed to be ok, aside from a few scrapes and burns, but Arcee was in bad shape. Her leg was twisted wickedly- it looked like it had nearly been torn off. Her face was contorted with pain, and Optimus supported most of her weight.

“What happened?” Bumblebee gasped.

“Starscream set up an ambush,” Optimus said.

“Set her down over here!” ordered Ratchet. “Bumblebee, grab me some painkillers!”

Bumblebee leapt to follow Ratchet’s instruction, leaving Optimus standing next to the medical berth as Ratchet examined Arcee’s leg.

“My fault,” she grunted in pain. “I thought I could catch him…”

“Hush,” said Ratchet. “We’ll have time for that kind of talk once you’re healed. Are there any other injuries aside from the leg?”

She shook her helm.

“Optimus, if you’re going to stand there, make yourself useful. I need some medical grade on hand. She needs to regain some of her strength.”

Optimus nodded and went to fetch the requested energon.

Ratchet set to work immediately, reconnecting frayed wires and realigning all that he could. He’d need to replace quite a bit of her leg. Arcee tried to hide her gasps of pain, but he could tell she was in agony. He ran a soothing servo over her plating.

“Bumblebee will be back soon with the painkillers,” he reassured her.

“I could use some,” she grunted. She shifted a bit, and must have pulled an already loose fuel line by accident, as a spurt of energon shot out of her leg. “Scrap!” she cried.

Ratchet hurriedly pressed a patch to her plating, trying to stop the bleeding. His vision swam as a familiar sensation took over his processor.

_ No no no! _

He fumbled for a disinfectant solution, and found that his servos were shaking. His ex-vents grew more and more rapid.

_ “First Aid, bring me some painkillers!” _

_ The blue femme laid out on the medberth before him writhed in pain, energon pouring from more wounds than Ratchet could count. _

_ “You’re going to be okay,” he murmured. “It’s okay, it’s okay.” _

_ She screamed, and the machine monitoring her vitals went wild. _

_ “Stay with me!” he shouted, frantically working to patch the wounds, but she was losing so much energon… _

“Ratchet?” a deep voice asked, sounding scared.

He registered Optimus standing somewhere nearby, but his vision was still swimming.

_ “Ya did the best you could, Ratch.” _

_ But no, that wasn’t true, was it? _

“I lost her, I lost her…” he murmured.

“Arcee is alive,” Optimus said, and Ratchet shook his helm, confused. “A- Arcee? What?”

“Something is wrong,” Optimus said, his strong voice wavering, and some part of Ratchet registered that this comment was directed at someone else.

“Ratchet!” That was Bumblebee’s voice. “Remember what I told you before. Deep breaths. Count to ten.”

He finally registered a set of servos on his shoulders. “Wh- what?”

“It’s okay, Ratchet. Here, sit down. I’ll deliver the painkillers.”

Ratchet followed Bumblebee’s instructions, still in a daze. Optimus was looking at him, stricken, and Ratchet turned his face away in shame. _ How could I let this happen again? And let Optimus see me like this? _

His servos were still shaking as he reflected on the flashback. It was a memory he hadn’t thought of in ages.

_ Chromia… _

After it was all over, he hadn’t been able to look Ironhide in the optics again.

_ It’s my fault she’s gone. I couldn’t help her then, and I can’t even help Arcee now. _

What would happen to him if he couldn’t even get through a medical procedure without having some sort of breakdown? He couldn’t leave the base now either.

_ You’re a dead weight. _

“Ratchet…” Optimus said softly, but Ratchet ignored him, shoving off of the berth without a word.

-

He was able to make it through most of Arcee’s repairs, at least everything that was crucial. He would fix the rest tomorrow. The painkillers made her sleepy, and she had quickly fallen into recharge.

Ratchet retreated to his quarters after that, with the excuse that he needed to recharge as well. Despite being true, it was still just a convenient reason to get away from the concerned optics of his comrades.

But of course, he couldn’t even manage to recharge. He curled in on himself, trying in vain to fend off the dark thoughts that surrounded him.

_ I’m holding them back. We can’t afford to have a weakness right now. _

_ I should have died back there. At least I would have died protecting something. _

-

The next few days passed in a haze. Arcee was on the mend, and actually listened without complaining when he ordered her to stay in the base and rest until she was fully healed.

He tried not to notice the way everyone tiptoed around him.

“I brought you some energon. When’s the last time you refueled?”

Ratchet only grunted in response.

“I can’t make you talk, but I really do think it would help,” Bumblebee pressed.

“Oh? And when did you become a medic?” Ratchet snarled at him.

Bumblebee’s door wings flared in a mix of surprise and frustration.

“Just- just take your energon. Please,” he said, before making his retreat.

Ratchet eyed the cube that the yellow bot had left behind, before stashing it away in a spare cabinet. There was no reason to waste resources. What if someone else got injured? They’d need all the extra energon they could get without Ratchet using up all of their resources.

He returned to his work, trying to focus through the exhaustion weighing down on him. He was hurting, body and mind.

-

After nearly two weeks of this pattern, Optimus decided it was time to intervene.

Ratchet was quite good at keeping his emotions under wraps when he wanted to, but it was glaringly obvious how much he was struggling. He seldom left the medbay at all, and when he did he seemed uncharacteristically tired and irritable, even for a mech who was often both of those things.

Optimus wasn’t the only one who was worried. Arcee and Bumblebee, having dealt with the effects of post-traumatic stress before, were the most preoccupied with Ratchet’s situation, but even the others had started to pick up on the fact that something was wrong. Wheeljack and Bulkhead had approached Optimus separately to voice their concerns.

He hovered outside the door to the medbay, carefully planning what he would say. He had hoped that Ratchet would approach _ him _ about his ailments, but it seemed that wasn’t going to happen. He needed to be gentle about this- trying to be forceful would just drive Ratchet further away.

He’d received some helpful advice from Bumblebee about some of the right words to use. Despite the grimness of the situation, Optimus was proud of his scout. Bumblebee had grown not only as a warrior, but as a compassionate friend, and perhaps, one day, an effective leader.

Optimus breathed a heavy ex-vent. Why was this so difficult for him? He’d survived millions of years of war. He’d stared into the face of Unicron with hardly a trace of fear. Yet when it came to Ratchet, he was terrified of losing the one he held closest.

It had happened once before. He’d lost the mech he once called one of his closest friends, because of his own inability to make amends with Megatronus. The loss still stung.

He would do better this time. With another deep breath, he opened the door.

Ratchet spared him a glance, and Optimus’s spark clenched when he saw how dull and tired the other mech’s optic was.

“What can I do for you, Optimus?” His vocalizer sounded distant.

“Nothing, I just wanted to talk, old friend. I haven’t had the chance to talk with you in a while.”

“Well, as you can see, I’m quite busy.”

“Yes…” Optimus was sure to keep a gentle tone. “That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about. You’ve been working so much lately. It’s time you took a break. I think it would benefit your health."

“I don’t need you to lecture me about my health,” Ratchet snapped, optic on some tool he was fiddling with.

Optimus had expected this reaction, but had hoped against it despite himself. He spoke again, this time channeling some firmness into his voice.

“Ratchet, don’t make me order you. I will lock you out of this medbay if you don’t get some rest.”

“No!” Ratchet shouted. “Y- you can’t! You can’t take this away from me. I _ need _ to contribute something. I need to do what I can for our team. Without this-” he gestured around himself “-I am _ nothing. _”

“Ratchet,” Optimus said, trying and failing to keep the hurt out his voice. Did Ratchet really think so lowly of himself?

“You can return after a few days of rest. Looking after yourself does not lessen the value of what you contribute here.”

This did nothing to calm Ratchet, who began to pace like a caged animal.

“You would say that, wouldn’t you? You don’t have to placate me with empty reassurances. I know the truth. I’ve been a dead weight ever since I returned from the _ Nemesis _. You should have just left me there!”

The words were like a blow to Optimus’s spark.

“Ratchet,” he said sadly. “Nobody here thinks that of you. You have done so much for all of us, and besides that, a bot’s worth is not measured by how much others benefit from him. We care about you for who you are, not what you give.”

Ratchet continued to pace, his vents growing more rapid.

“Ratchet, please, talk to me. Or if not me, then Bumblebee, Arcee, someone. Something is wrong. You need help.”

Ratchet finally turned to face Optimus again, his field alight with a mixture of sorrow, anger, and stress.

“How can you expect me to just- just-” he blinked, seeming to lose track of what he was saying.

Dizziness clouded his optic, and he took a stumbling step forward.

“Ratchet?” Optimus asked, suddenly terrified.

“Op- Optimus…”

Suddenly, Ratchet fell forward, and Optimus was just in time to catch him before he hit the floor.

“Ratchet? Ratchet, can you hear me?”

Ratchet didn’t respond, and Optimus’s spark throbbed with panic. What was happening?

He commed Arcee to come quickly as he laid Ratchet gently on one of the medical berths. One by one, he began to check the medic’s vitals, and when he got to Ratchet’s energon levels, his tank dropped.

They were critically low. It was a wonder Ratchet had even been able to stand and have a conversation.

_ But we have plenty of energon. Why would he…? _

It hit him. Ratchet had been purposely starving himself. He had mentioned something about being a burden on the others. He must have stopped refueling to leave more fuel for everyone else.

It was an incredibly foolish thing to do, and as a medic Ratchet should have known better. Instead of being angry, however, Optimus felt a great sorrow overtake him.

_ I let this happen. I knew something was wrong, and I stood by and let it happen. I’m so, so sorry, old friend. _

The door flew open and Arcee skidded to a stop next to Optimus.

“What happened?” Her optics widened when she noticed Ratchet.

“He is critically under fueled. Quickly, help me connect an energon drip.”

She raced to get the line connected, and within a minute Ratchet was hooked up to an IV. His frame shook. He looked so weak like this.

“Why would he stop refueling?” Arcee asked.

“He- he thinks he is a burden to us.” It was difficult for Optimus to say out loud.

Arcee’s optics welled with sorrow, but after a moment she nodded in understanding.

“I knew things were bad, but I didn’t realize it was this bad. I should have...” She stopped herself. Blaming herself was pointless.

“I don’t know what to do,” Optimus confessed.

“After I lost Tailgate, I wanted to hurt myself,” Arcee confessed. “I thought it should have been me instead. I purposely put myself in dangerous situations. It was a stupid thing to do, but sometimes the processor doesn’t act rationally after bad things happen. I was able to work through it, but it took time. Longer than it should have, probably, but I was too stubborn to seek help. And there are things I’m still working through today. There are bad days, but I still made it. I beat them. If I can do it, Ratchet can too. Just be patient. We’re not going to give up on him.”

Her words offered a trace of comfort. Optimus nodded appreciatively, brushing his digits lightly over one of Ratchet’s servos.

“We’re here, old friend,” he whispered. “We won’t give up on you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, this chapter was extremely hard to write. As always, I hope I'm doing this subject and these characters justice. I live for angst but there will be some soft feels ahead too.
> 
> I really do think most of these characters suffer from some trauma of one kind or another, they just haven't been able to think about it much because of the war, but once the war seems to be close to ending, suddenly a lot of repressed things come back to the surface.
> 
> Thanks for all the comments and support! Comments mean the world to me. Take care <3


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An important conversation is had

For the first time in a long time, Ratchet’s sleep was dreamless. He was lost in a dark void. It was rather comfortable, but in some way he couldn’t quite place, it felt wrong.

Then consciousness returned bit by bit. The gentle hum of his medical equipment, the familiar smell of disinfectants, a bright light, and a warm presence.

Optimus was there, and in his waking confusion Ratchet thought for a moment that he had just returned from the Nemesis, and then he noticed the crushing sorrow in his leader’s optics and it all came crashing back to him.

_ Slag. _

They sat in silence for several uncomfortable minutes.

“Optimus-” Ratchet finally spoke up. But what could he say? He’d royally fragged up, and he knew it.

“I’m sorry,” Optimus said, his normally commanding tone reduced to a sad whisper.

“What?! Why are you apologizing to me? I’m the one who messed up! Aren’t you going to lecture me, or yell at me, or something?”

But Optimus looked far from anger. If anything, he looked defeated.

“I created an environment, despite unintentionally, that made you feel as if you could not come to your team with your problems. I should have been present, I should have-”

“Stop! I can’t listen to you blame yourself. I was being foolish. As a medical professional, I should have known better than to limit my fuel intake. I’m sorry.”

Both fell quiet, save for a sigh from Ratchet. He didn’t know why he’d expected Optimus to be angry. In all the years they’d known each other, Optimus had never turned his anger towards him, not even after the Synthetic Energon.

This was so much worse. He cared for Optimus perhaps more than he cared for anyone else, and knowing that he had reduced his closest friend to such sorrow- it was nearly unthinkable.

Carefully, Optimus spoke again.

“What can I do to help you? I can’t force you to talk to me, but seeing you in pain like this-” He let out a shaky ex-vent.

“I don’t know. I don’t even know how to help myself. And truthfully-” Ratchet thought about leaving out this part, but at this point, what did he have to lose? “I don’t think I saw myself living long enough for getting help to even be an option."

Before he could stop himself, Optimus took Ratchet’s servo, squeezing it tightly as if he might disappear at any moment. It was hard to hear, but he listened quietly as Ratchet continued.

“I’ve lost all usefulness here. I can’t transform. I’ve been having flashbacks, dreams. They distract me from my work as a medic. I don’t want to hold everyone back.”   
  
“That’s not how we see you,” Optimus said gently. “I’m aware that Bumblebee told you of his struggles after he lost his voice box. And Arcee, after she lost her friends. I know you don’t think they hold us back. You value and care for them like family.  _ You’re _ part of our family, Ratchet. Nothing will ever make us stop caring for you.”

Ratchet shifted in the medical berth, his expression one of mournful regret.

“I’m afraid I’m not an expert in these kinds of things, but whatever you need, I’ll do it. I want to help you.” Optimus’s voice was full of earnestness as he continued. “I want to see you happy. You deserve to be happy.”

Ratchet responded with a squeeze to Optimus’s servo. He still felt lost, but Optimus was a beacon guiding him to safety.

“I’ll do my best,” he breathed. “I don’t know what to do any more than you do, but- but I can try. I’ll try to be open.”

Optimus seemed to relax a little, his optics growing slightly less sad.

Another awkward silence passed. “So, what do we do now?” asked Ratchet.

Optimus thought for a moment.

“No more apologies,” he said. “From myself or from you. What happened wasn’t either of our faults. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. Sometimes… sometimes these things just happen.”

This would be a challenge at first. Guilt was in both of their natures. But it seemed like a fair compromise. Maybe neither of them would stop blaming themselves overnight, but it was something they could work on together.

“Okay, I can do that,” said Ratchet.

“We need to address your physical health,” Optimus said next. “You’re overworking yourself.”

“Please, don’t forbid me from my work,” Ratchet begged, his voice almost a sob. “I can’t stand to be trapped here with nothing to do. I need the work.”

Optimus considered this for a moment. “A compromise,” he said at last. “You may still work, but only for a certain number of hours. You need to set aside some time for rest. That includes fueling and recharge.”

Ratchet was tempted to argue, but finally, he conceded. “Okay.” It was fair. As a medic, he knew better than anyone the way he had been neglecting his physical health. But there was still a problem he had to work through.

“Recharge is difficult for me. I keep having these dreams- seeing bots who I couldn’t save.”

It was the first time he’d confessed it out loud. He looked away in shame, but another reassuring squeeze to his servo brought his gaze back to meet Optimus’s.

“We’ll figure something out. Would it help to have someone nearby? I know these things are difficult for you to talk about, but maybe just another presence would help? I can arrange it so that we have someone keeping watch inside of the base at night as well as the outside patrol.”

Ratchet took a moment to think. It would be hard for him to take his problems to anyone, but maybe just knowing that his team was alive and safe would help. His processor wandered to a fantasy that he’d had often in the early years of the war- waking up safe in Optimus’s arms, the two of them lying close together, without having to worry about the war or anything except the closeness of another.

He shook his helm, clearing the thought. Optimus had already done enough for him, he wouldn’t dare to ask for more.

“Yes,” he said at last. “Yes, I think that would help. Thank you, Optimus. I know I haven’t exactly made things easy-” He managed to stop himself from saying anything else that would sound apologetic or self-blaming. “But I- I’m glad you’re here.”

“I’m glad  _ you’re _ here,” Optimus repeated back to him. “You mean more to me than you could ever know.”

They spent the rest of the night like that, servos joined, listening to the sounds of each other’s vents.

They still had a long way to go, but in the silence of the medbay and the warmth of each other’s presence, it felt as if something had finally been mended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a hard chapter to write.
> 
> The area of mental health is something that I imagine Optimus hasn't had much experience dealing with (I think his own trauma is buried so deep down that it would take someone like Rung to really bring it up and deal with it), but at the end of the day he's always willing to listen and do what he can. I hope that came across.
> 
> This story is close to wrapping up, I think. Probably one more chapter, maybe two. Ratchet's not going to miraculously recover overnight, but he's making a good start. Coming up next, we may or may not get some confessions, a surprise visit from someone, and Team Prime generally loving and supporting each other.
> 
> Thank you again to everyone who has been keeping up with this, especially those who leave comments! Reading those truly helps give me the energy and inspiration I need to keep writing.
> 
> A very happy New Year to you all!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At long last, some soft feelings!

Ratchet awoke early, but stayed in berth for a long time, thinking about nothing in particular and listening to the sounds of his own vents. A blanket of silence had fallen upon the base -- it was still early enough that most of the bots would not be up yet, except for the night watch. Were he able to go outside, he could imagine the first rays of sunlight just starting to peek over the horizon. He missed it more than he thought he would. To feel the sun on his plating and the dirt beneath his wheels.

It was a loss that never ceased being painful, but he was comforted by the thought that he’d given what he could to protect his team -- his family.

His family that had done so much to protect him in return… and who would have thought that the thing he’d most need protecting from was himself.

Several weeks had passed, mostly uneventful. Optimus kept him under a watchful optic, but the worst of it seemed to have passed. There were still the nightmares, still too many bad memories brought painfully to the forefront, but Ratchet pushed past it the best he could. Surrounded by his teammates and a steady routine, he was comfortable.

When he finally grew restless from lying in berth, he forced himself up and went to collect his morning energon. Yes, a full ration, because he knew Optimus would ask.

And speak of the bot himself -- Optimus was awake, sitting up in the common room. He was writing something, murmuring gently to himself, but his optics flicked up to meet Ratchet’s, and that same beautiful fleeting ghost of a smile graced his features. How was it that he could stay so handsome despite the many years of war and stress of leadership?

“Hello, old friend.” The familiar baritone went straight to Ratchet’s spark. Forget fuel. This was all the nourishment he needed.

“Good morning, Optimus,” he answered, somehow managing not to let his voice crack.

“Did you recharge well?” The look Optimus gave him was scrutinizing, but not judgmental.

“As well as can be expected,” Ratchet sighed. “Were you on watch last night?”

“Yes, though it proved to be rather uneventful.” Optimus stashed whatever he was working on into his subspace before standing. “I haven’t fueled yet. Can I get you some energon?”

“Y- yes, that would be nice. Thank you.”

Ratchet waited until Optimus had returned to take a seat. The larger mech had pulled out a chair for him, and they sat rather close together, fueling silently. It was rare for the base to have such little activity. Ratchet suspected that the children were the reason -- they’d stayed over the previous night, and the younger bots had been up later than usual entertaining their guests.

“I always liked mornings like this,” Optimus mused out loud. “The quiet- it makes it easier to think. Feeds my inner poet, one might say.”

Ratchet smiled to himself. Despite how the war had changed him, there were still some parts of Orion Pax alive within Optimus.

“We used to be up early like this quite often, just the two of us. Even before the war,” Ratchet added.

“Do you remember, right after I became Prime, when we stayed up all night so we could watch the sun rise over Cybertron?”

“Yes, though I’m surprised you do.” Ratchet laughed. “If I recall correctly, I believe  _ I  _ watched the sun rise and you fell asleep on my shoulder.”

Optimus’s face flushed a little, despite his efforts to maintain his composure.

A moment later, though, Ratchet’s expression darkened. “I miss it, Optimus. I miss our home. I miss our friends. We’ve lost so much. Sometimes I- I feel like I could have done more, that maybe I could have saved more lives, helped more bots…”

Optimus placed a steadying servo on his shoulder. “You’ve done all you can and more. It’s easy to get lost sometimes in what could have been, but we need to keep moving forward.” He paused, as if considering something, before continuing, softer. “I’ve felt the same way. Too many times to count. Everyone who died… they were following  _ me _ . And I always wonder… did I do the right thing? Could I have kept them alive if I’d done things differently?”

It felt strange to hear such a confession from Optimus, who always seemed so sure of himself, but in a way Ratchet was comforted to know he wasn’t alone, even if he wouldn’t wish these feelings one anyone else.

Optimus finished the last of his energon, musing quietly.

“Ratchet,” he said at last. “I have something I want to tell you.”

Before he could say any more, a loud ping from one of Ratchet’s scanners drew both of their attention. Ratchet leapt up to investigate.

“It looks like some foreign object has broken through the Earth’s atmosphere.” His monitor displayed the object’s trajectory towards the northern United States, where it would make impact within a few minutes.

“This signal… I recognize it! It’s an Autobot signal, specifically that of a medical transport. We have to intercept it,” he said, turning to Optimus. “It could be carrying valuable medical supplies, and maybe even injured Autobots.”

“I’ll gather a team,” said Optimus. “Bulkhead, Arcee, and myself will go. I’ll ask Bumblebee to be on backup here, in case we need reinforcements. And Ratchet… I’d like for you to accompany us.”

Ratchet’s optic widened in surprise. “Optimus, you know I can’t. It’s too dangerous. Without the ability to transform, I could slow you down. Or be spotted by the humans.”

Optimus gestured towards the monitor, where a signal indicated that the ship had already made impact. “The transport landed in an isolated area, far from any humans. We need your medical expertise to help us handle the supplies. And if anyone on board was injured in the crash, you can help them.”

Ratchet nodded hesitantly, his argument lost. He wanted desperately to be able to be of help to his team, but he knew that if his weakness was used against him he could easily become a hindrance. He’d have to be on guard.

-

As soon as Ratchet stepped out of the ground bridge, his pede landed in something wet and cold.  _ Great. _

“I was hoping I wouldn’t have to see snow again,” Arcee grumbled, suppressing a shiver.

“Just another reason to get this over fast,” Bulkhead chimed in.

Ratchet pulled his scanner closer, squinting his optic against the bright light surrounding them so that he could read it. “About two miles due north.”

“Lead the way, old friend,” Optimus said, a puff of fog appearing as he spoke. Ratchet could tell he was as eager as everyone else to complete their mission quickly, but, as always, he exuded an air of patience.

Big flakes of snow fell around them as they walked hastily. It would have been quite beautiful, had they not been in such an urgent situation. Even Ratchet had to admit that he at times found Earth’s landscapes appealing. And despite his dislike of the cold and wet, being stuck in the base for so long made even the snow seem, in its own way, magical.

They followed the path set by his scanners -- not that it was necessary, given the trail of smoke that clearly marked the location of the crash site. Soon enough, a crashed shuttle came into view. It was far too damaged to fly again, but not enough that there couldn’t be survivors on board.

Once they approached, Ratchet stepped through a door on the outside that had already been partially torn off.   
  
“Arcee, with me. I might need help carrying out any remaining supplies.”

Just before Ratchet was all the way through, Optimus caught him by the arm.

“Be careful, old friend.”

Ratchet gave an encouraging smile -- the first time in a long time he could actually remember smiling.

“Don’t you worry. We’ll comm you if we run into trouble.”

Leaving the other two to stand watch, Ratchet and Arcee made their way through the ship’s hallway. It was on the small side, meant more for delivering emergency supplies than carrying large loads of passengers. It didn’t take long to find the supply room, and Ratchet was delighted to find most of the supplies still intact. He and Arcee were in the midst of packing up what was left when a shot rang from outside.   
  
“Scrap!” Arcee snarled, hastily shoving the last few items into a box.

“Scrap indeed,” said a smooth voice. Arcee spun around, throwing herself between Ratchet and the newcomer.

Knock Out grinned at them from the doorway, weapon armed.

“Well, well, well. I wasn’t expecting to see you up and about, Ratchet. I would have thought you’d have finally rusted into scrap by now.”

Ratchet tensed, the taunting voice bringing up all too familiar and painful memories.

“You’re outnumbered,” he growled.

“I didn’t come alone.” Knock Out stepped closer. “Your friends outside are thoroughly occupied, I assure you.” He cocked his helm, before continuing.

“Let’s just cut to the chase. Give me the supplies, and I’ll leave without hurting any of you. Medic’s honor.”

“Sure. As if,” spat Arcee, who had long since drawn her own weapon.

“Worth a shot,” he shrugged, and wasted no more time in firing his weapon. Arcee and Ratchet dove out of the way, in separate directions. Arcee ended up closer to Knock Out, and launched herself across the floor, tackling him to the ground.

“Take the supplies and go!” she shouted over her shoulder.

Ratchet made to gather them, but a pained cry from Arcee cut him off. When he looked back up, she was pinned against the wall, energon trailing down one side. She wasn’t moving either-- the wound must have stunned her. A glint of light caught his optic, just before he heard the buzz of a saw blade.

Ratchet froze. It was an image straight out of one of his nightmares. *Not now, not now! She needs me!* He blinked, counted to three, just enough to clear his processor, and lunged.

Knock Out was more adept at fighting, but Ratchet had more strength on his side. He managed to drag the other mech away from Arcee and knock him backwards with a swift punch.

“I’ll make you regret that,” the sports car growled. “And next time, there won’t be anything left of you.”   
  
He lashed out, his movements sporadic. Ratchet managed to dodge, but wasn’t quite fast enough as Knock Out’s saw grazed his arm, drawing a stream of energon.

Ratchet pushed on, grappling with the smaller mech to try and disarm him. The saw grazed him again, and again, each cut stinging with an unnecessary force.

“Why don’t you just give up already?” Knock Out barked, clearly frustrated that this fight was taking longer than he’d anticipated. “I mean, look at you. You’re missing your t-cog, your frame has seen better days -- honestly, you look one step away from the scrap heap! Just give it up already.”   
  
Ratchet couldn’t say the comments didn’t strike a nerve, but they were drowned out by his inner stubbornness. For so long, that stubbornness had been directed at Ratchet himself.  _ Show no weakness. Don’t ask for help. _ But now, it had a new target.

“Never,” he grunted. “I’ll never stop fighting, so long as I have a family to protect.” He followed this up with another mighty punch, enough to send Knock Out backwards several yards. The red mech glared at him, wiping away energon from his split lip. There was movement behind Ratchet as Arcee stirred.   
  
“You pathetic Autobots are so sappy,” Knock Out groaned with a roll of his optics. “But I know when I’m outmatched. Au revoir, doctor.” With that, he spun around, shifting into alt-mode mid jump, and sped away.

Ratchet rushed to help Arcee up. “Are you all right?”   
  
“Yeah, it’s not as bad as it looks. What about you?” There was a note of concern in her voice when she noticed the various cuts on Ratchet’s frame.

“I’m fine. Now let’s get these supplies back. I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to get out of here.”

She helped him gather the supplies once again, and they began to make their way back to where Optimus and Bulkhead were waiting. A quick comm confirmed that the other two were safe. They’d been attacked by Decepticons but the enemy had fled along with Knock Out. Nevertheless, Arcee and Ratchet were on guard as they crept through the shuttle’s hallways. The ship was poorly lit, and both were wary of anyone who could be hiding in the shadows.

Which was exactly why they were immediately on the defense when one of those shadows moved. Arcee, who had kept one hand free just in case of something like this, raised her weapon. “Show yourself!” she demanded.

“Pl- please don’t shoot!” A small voice answered back. The other mech stepped out of the shadows, revealing a bot of small stature which matched his equally small voice. Dirt and scrapes marred what had once been red and white plating, but despite the obvious wear and tear, the bot’s autobrand was proudly displayed, shiny as the day it was received. A visored face lifted to meet Ratchet’s gaze, and both mechs were immediately met with a spark of recognition.

“Aid?”

“Ratchet! It’s you! I didn’t know if you were-”

Words were forgotten, and Ratchet placed the boxes in his arms aside as the two rushed forward to embrace.

“It’s good to see you, kid. Didn’t know if you’d made it either, but if anyone could, it’d be you.”

Once they’d pulled apart, Ratchet turned to acknowledge Arcee, who was looking at them brows raised. She obviously didn’t recognize the newcomer.

“Arcee, this is First Aid. He was my apprentice, back on Cybertron.”

Arcee nodded respectfully. “Pleased to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine!” First Aid was practically beaming. Ratchet had forgotten how much energy the other medic had. “So… all this time, you were on Earth?”

Ratchet nodded. “A lot has happened since we last saw each other. Optimus is here, too.”

“I know! That’s… actually why I’m here. I got his message.”

“The message made it?” Asked Arcee, sounding a bit surprised.

“I don’t know how many other Autobots heard it, but my ship is pretty good at receiving long range communications. I’ve been travelling around, looking for distress signals from other Autobots. Anyone who might be hurt.”

Ratchet smiled proudly. “You’ve been doing good work, but I’m glad to have you here. Let’s get you back to our base. The others will be glad to see you.”

Optimus and Bulkhead were indeed pleasantly surprised when Ratchet and Arcee exited the ship with another Autobot trailing behind them. Bulkhead, who had known First Aid from back when the medic briefly worked with the wreckers, greeted the smaller bot with a crushing hug, drawing a delighted laugh from the other mech.

They were able to make their way back to the ground bridge in record time, and the rest of team Prime was equally delighted to greet the newcomer.

The group, children included, crowded into the medbay as First Aid helped tend to Ratchet’s and Arcee’s wounds.

“So, you’re a doctor, just like Ratchet?” Miko asked.

“Yep! Ratchet was my teacher, back on Cybertron. Of course, he’s still the best of the best.”

Ratchet dismissed this statement with a wave of his servo. “Nonsense! I heard about what you accomplished with the wreckers. It seems like you’ve learned a lot. I’m proud of you, Aid.”

The smaller bot beamed at the praise, and Ratchet smiled fondly in return.

Once the rest of the group had all gone, Ratchet pulled First Aid aside.

“Normally, I don’t like anyone touching my things, but anything in this medbay is rightfully yours as much as it is mine. You’re free to use any equipment that you’d like. I don’t know what you plan on doing now. Your ship seems in pretty bad shape, but I’m sure we can help you find the parts to repair it.” He paused, deep in thought.

“But- I hope you’ll consider staying. Optimus wants to build a home here on Earth. It’ll be a lot of work, but if anyone can do it, he can. And I’m sure you’ve noticed, I’m not as young as I once was. I’ll keep working until the day I’m offlined, but I could really use some help around here. Someone with young energy.”

Aid nodded. “I’d like that, sir.”

“Don’t call me sir! As far as I’m concerned, you and I are equals, now. I know war is a harsh teacher, but I really am proud of how much you’ve learned.”

First Aid beamed again. “Yes s- yes, Ratchet.” His vocalizer clicked like he wanted to say something, but wasn’t sure how to word it. Ratchet waited patiently, and finally the other mech spoke up again.

“During your medical scans earlier today… I noticed your t-cog. It’s gone.” He didn’t ask what had happened, but Ratchet sensed the question in his words.

“Megatron,” he answered quietly. “I’ve had to sacrifice a lot, just as everyone else has. I’ve made my peace with it.”

“I see.” He couldn’t quite read First Aid’s expression, but it seemed like the other mech was calculating something.

“I’ll let you get settled,” said Ratchet, breaking the silence. “Let me know if you need anything.”

He headed back to his quarters, intent on getting some recharge after such an eventful day. On the way back, he was intercepted by Bumblebee.

“Finally getting some rest, Ratchet?”

“Yes. I haven’t been this tired in Primus knows how long.”

“I’m glad you’re resting. You’ve earned it. You really do a lot for the rest of us. I mean, Pit, you should have seen the way First Aid was looking at you today. It was like he was meeting one of the Knights of Cybertron.”

“Mm, reminds me of a certain someone back when he was a young scout.”

Bumblebee smiled bashfully, but placed a friendly servo on Ratchet’s shoulder. “See? Just goes to prove it. You’re important to us, Ratch. I hope you see that someday.”

Once Bumblebee was out of sight, Ratchet murmured to himself. “I think I’m starting to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had fun imagining what First Aid would be like in Prime. I imagine him being just slightly eccentric, but well liked. He's got less on his shoulders than IDW Aid. And I picture he and Ratchet having a father/son dynamic.
> 
> Next chapter will be the last. Thank you all for staying with me!


	9. Epilogue

_ The things I could have accomplished if we’d had another medic years ago! _ Ratchet mused as he gazed around the newly organized medbay. Projects that he’d been putting off for ages suddenly found themselves completed overnight. No longer did he have to prioritize if two or more of his teammates returned injured. Ratchet wasn’t the most religious of mechs, but First Aid was nothing short of a blessing from Primus.

Some part of him had feared that he would feel like his use had run out now that Team Prime had a younger, fresh medic, but he didn’t need to worry for long. A doctor’s work is never done, and even with the two of them, there were still plenty of projects to complete.

And aside from that, Ratchet enjoyed having company. Aid was no longer the timid young student Ratchet had mentored at the academy. He had grown into a confident, talented mech in his own right, and kept up not only with Ratchet’s skill, but his verbal wit as well. When they weren’t working, they were tossing jabs at one another, joking and reliving old memories.

Aid got on well with the rest of Team Prime, and as a result Ratchet found himself more frequently dragged into socializing, but he couldn’t exactly complain. It was hard to be in a bad mood when everyone was alive and safe and  _ happy _ .

As for his own well being, he felt better as the days wore on. More like himself. What happened on the  _ Nemesis _ had faded to a distant memory. There were still bad days, and nights where he woke up in a cold sweat after reliving old war memories, but his spark was eased by being so closely surrounded by his family.

-

One morning, Ratchet went into the main room to find everyone acting strangely. Arcee and Bumblebee started whispering to each other as soon as he entered, and Smokescreen suddenly became very interested in his cube of energon.   
  
Ratchet cocked a brow at them, but before he could ask any questions, Wheeljack called out to him from where he was seated, practically in Bulkhead’s lap. “Morning, Sleeping Beauty!”

Bulkhead shushed his partner, and smiled apologetically at Ratchet.

“Did I miss something?” Ratchet grunted, glancing suspiciously around the room.

“Not at all, old friend. We’re just happy to see you. Here, have some energon.” Optimus approached him from behind, placing a servo on his shoulder and handing him a cube, which Ratchet accepted skeptically.

“Where is First Aid?”

“He’ll be along soon,” Arcee said, trying to hide her smile.

Sure enough, First Aid rounded the corner just as Ratchet was finishing his energon.

He approached shyly, hiding something in his servos.

“What’s going on?” Ratchet asked, cocking his helm.

“When I heard about what you’ve been through, I wanted to do something for you. You’ve done so much for me, and for everyone here. I’ve been working on a way to fabricate these from scratch, and, well, it’s not perfect, but I think it will work.”

He held up the object in his servos.

“Is that a t-cog?” Ratchet asked, stunned. “How did you…?”

“I learned a lot when I was in the field. I can’t promise it will work, but it’s worth a try, right?”

“Aid, I... “ Ratchet didn’t know what to say, so instead he pulled the other medic into a tight embrace.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“Well, shall we give it a try?” Arcee asked, reminding Ratchet that there was an audience.

“Yes, of course,” he said, trying and failing to hide the brightness in his optic. It wasn’t the t-cog itself that meant so much to him. He could survive without transforming. But the thought behind it, that someone would do something like that for him…

As if reading his mind, Optimus leaned forward, placing a servo on Ratchet’s shoulder once again. He didn’t speak, but Ratchet knew the meaning behind it well enough.

-

“That’s it, easy does it,” First Aid coaxed as Ratchet stood carefully from the medical slab where he’d been in stasis for several hours.

“Do you feel alright?”

“I feel great!” Ratchet stretched in place for a moment, loosening up his joints.

“I hope this works…” Aid murmured.

“Only one way to find out.” There was a whirring sound, a bit rougher than the sound of a normal transformation, but nothing in it seemed alarming, either. In a moment, Ratchet found himself in his alt mode, for the first time in nearly a year.

“Brilliant! Do you feel ok? Any strange tingling? Numbness?”

“I feel fine, Aid,” Ratchet said, transforming back to his root mode. “Better than fine. I can’t thank you enough.”

“It was the least I could do,” Aid said, beaming.

“Ratchet,” Optimus said, approaching him tentatively. “Would you like to go for a drive with me? I could use some fresh air, as I’m sure you could.”

Ratchet smiled up at him. “It would be my pleasure.”

Before they knew it, they were speeding down the highway, just the two of them. Feeling the wind against his plating and the road beneath his tires filled Ratchet with a sense of euphoria. He turned on his siren, his own cry of celebration. Next to him, Optimus honked his horn, in an equally celebratory mood.

After several minutes, they reached the spot where Cliffjumper was buried. The sun was just starting to set, casting long shadows across the desert landscape.

Ratchet transformed out of his alt mode with a little twist, landing gracefully next to Optimus, who had already transformed.

“Ratchet,” the taller mech said quietly. Ratchet glanced up at his face. Was that a slight blush of energon on Optimus’s cheeks?

“We’ve known each other for so long, and throughout all that time, I’ve always carried strong feelings for you. Feelings of more than just friendship. I speculate that you might have been aware of this, but regardless, I thought you should know. I was afraid to say anything, for a number of reasons. I thought it went against my duty as Prime, I thought I might lose you. But in the end the only barriers holding me back were those that I created. You may respond in whichever way you choose, and I will respect your choice, but I just want to tell you, even if it’s just this once -- Ratchet, I love you.”

A heat rushed to Ratchet’s own face, but he managed not to look away.

“Optimus… I had often wondered if you felt that way, but it was never the right time to bring it up. Regardless, I’ve loved you for so long, and I can’t imagine I’ll ever stop loving you.” He took Optimus’s servo in his own, before continuing. “I’d be happy to be by your side, as a friend, or as a mate.”

And then he was graced with that one of a kind Optimus Prime smile -- the kind of smile that could melt the polar icecaps -- and Ratchet couldn’t help smiling back, laughing softly to himself.

“Look at us. A couple of old fools who waited centuries to say we love each other. What are we going to do?”

“If you’re taking suggestions, I would very much like to kiss you,” Optimus said, still smiling.

“Then get down here and kiss me like you mean it.”

Without waiting, Ratchet took hold of Optimus’s windshield, tugging him down and capturing his mouth in a deep and amorous kiss. The kiss was filled with the passion of a thousand years’ worth of unresolved feelings, and they made sure to draw it out, taking every moment to learn each other -- what they felt like, what they tasted like.

It was, as Miko would have put it, “pretty hot.”

After they’d explored each other’s frames, servos searching and vents ragged, they settled down to watch the sunset together. Ratchet was tucked under Optimus’s arm, and had a servo resting on the larger mech’s thigh. It reminded Ratchet very much of that time on Cybertron, centuries ago. They had been young and hopeful, and perhaps a little foolish.

But still, he embraced some of that foolish youthful hope as it came flooding back to him. They’d both been through countless hardships, but they still had each other. They had their family. As long as he had that, Ratchet would always have a reason to keep fighting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end! Thank you so much to everyone who kept up with this story, especially those of you who left such kind and supportive comments! I hope you are happy with how it has turned out! What started as a way to torture my fave ended up being something else entirely, and I'm personally very happy with what it ended up as.
> 
> I suffer from depression, anxiety, and chronic illness among other things, and fanfiction is my outlet. Writing this story helped me a lot in a lot of different ways.
> 
> Hope the end wasn't too sappy! I like to give our boys good things, even if I make them suffer to get it.
> 
> Thanks again, take care out there!


End file.
